Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“In fairness, he’d have probably broken my ribs, too,” I add as an afterthought.
“William, I’m so sorry,” Laurence says as his hand reaches for my knee. I do nothing but follow it as it moves through the air, inhaling sharply when it lands.
What’s he sorry for? My story is hypothetical as far as Laurence is concerned. I haven’t revealed anything. Have I?
“What about your mum? Could you have told her?” he asks.
I think he knows. I must’ve slipped up somewhere. Either that or he’s got some kind of radar around these things. I should stop. Leave.
But I don’t want to… “Not likely. She wasn’t what you’d call an involved parent. Most of the time she was just trying to get through the day without being seen as causing trouble. She left eventually, and I’ve tried not to blame her over the years. In fact, I didn’t blame her for a long time. Hell, I’d have gone myself if I’d had the money. Even after I grew up, got out, got married, I thought I understood. But then we had Lucy, my daughter, and I knew the second I saw her I could never abandon her like that.”
Laurence’s hand is still on my knee, the warmth of his palm soaking through my trousers and setting fire to my skin. His fingers move just slightly, barely an inch, and it takes all my strength not to shudder.
“I dinnae even know what to say. I can’t imagine a home like that. Although…” he trails off, drags in a breath, “I think I understand you more now.”
He does? “In what way?”
He smiles. It’s sad. Sympathetic. “Why you’re afraid.”
He definitely knows, and the thought makes me uncomfortable. He’s too close. Emotionally. Physically. Needing distance, I stand up, knocking back my measure of whisky in one go. Fuck, it burns, but I welcome the momentary distraction.
“It’s okay, William.” I’m thankful he stays where he is, where I don’t have to look at him. “I’m not trying to pressure you. We don’t even have to talk about you anymore.”
“Then…what do you want?” I put my glass on the counter, contemplate pouring another, maybe keep pouring, keep drinking until I’ve lost the ability to think.
“To be your friend.”
My body starts turning of its own accord, compelled by an urge to see his face, look in his eyes. “My friend,” I repeat.
His smile is small, but warm. Genuine. “I like you, William. I like being around you,” he says. “Talking to you feels, I don’t know, natural. Effortless. Being in your company is like leaping back to a simpler time. Back to when trust was a thing that could be broken and didn’t need to be earned.”
It’s possibly one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. How lonely that must be, to be sceptical of everyone you meet, to have to question their motives, wonder whether they want you, or a version of you.
“You trust me?” He doesn’t know me. Not really.
He chuckles dryly as he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “I have no idea why, but yeah. I think I do.” Getting up, he reaches me in two long strides. He tilts his head to find my eyes, which are busy staring at my feet. “Am I a fool?”
No. Probably. “I don’t know,” is the most honest answer I can give. “I don’t know much of anything right now. Have no idea what I’m doing.”
“That’s okay. Neither do I,” Laurence says, smiling in a way I find oddly comforting. “We’re both experiencing today for the first time.” I don’t see the clap to the top of my shoulder coming. Two firm pats, and then he walks around me to get to the counter. “Tea?”
“Uh…” My face is screwed in confusion. I’m not sure what’s happening.
“Do you take milk? Sugar?”
“Uh, y-yes. Both. Two sugars.”
“So, tomorrow Stan and I are doing this huge scene set on Tower Bridge,” he begins while he fills the kettle. A completely ordinary task, as if we’ve not just had the most extraordinary conversation. “We’ve got the armourer on site, stunt doubles, they’re flipping cars. It’s gonna be a great shoot. If you get time, you should come and check it out.”
“To Tower Bridge?”
“No.” Laurence laughs. “I forget which studio. It’s on my call sheet. It’ll be mostly green screen, but it’s fun seeing how the magic’s made for the first time. I mean, I know you’ve been around a few weeks now, but the real action stuff…that’s something else.”
I feel a little stupid. Of course it’s green screen. Nobody’s going to start crashing cars on the real Tower Bridge. I’ve probably been over the rigging in whichever studio he’s talking about at some point in the last few days, too. I’m just struggling to remember anything about my life before the moment Laurence held my hand in his.